


Where Do You Think You're Going?

by skittenninja



Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Monsters, POV Dean Winchester, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26849794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittenninja/pseuds/skittenninja
Summary: Whumptober 2020 Day Five: Dean has only one shot at escaping. He isn't going to waste it, even though every shadow feels like a monster, every noise an attack, and he could swear there was something breathing down his neck.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949905
Kudos: 8





	Where Do You Think You're Going?

Dean didn’t have much time.

The monster had stupidly left a door open, though he really thought it was its own fault for leaving him unattended, and he’d immediately known that this might be his only chance at escape.

He had no idea how long he’d been stuck in this place, or even what it really was. An abandoned factory, maybe. It would explain all the decrepit machinery lying around, which jutted out into Dean’s path, rusty saboteurs in his attempt to flee.

Over the sound of his own feet hitting the concrete floor, Dean managed to pick out voices emanating from a room in front of him. Golden lamp light spilled out into the dingy hallway through the slightly ajar door, and Dean mentally cursed his misfortune. If they heard him walk by, he was screwed. If he took too long going past, someone else would notice he was no longer tied to a metal pole, and he’d be screwed.

There was a very precarious line that Dean was going to have to walk if he wanted to make it out.

Remembering years and years of hunting, way back even to when he was just a kid in the woods with John, Dean slowed his pace drastically and started to creep towards the door. Sounds of laughter and causal conversation drifted towards him as he moved, although his increasing heart rate was ironically making such things harder to hear the closer he got.

A scuffling noise sharply bounced around the walls, originating somewhere from behind Dean. He was already braced for a fight before he could even finish turning his head.

His eyes found nothing but the aging and broken devices he’d already passed, not another living soul in sight. However, there also was no sign of the cause of the sudden noise in sight either.

Dean managed to half-convince himself it must have been a rat or some other animal before slowly turning and moving forwards again. The voices from the room ahead never ceased in their conversation, indicating that those inside either hadn’t heard the noise, or they had and didn’t consider it an issue.

His steps were more uncertain now, every single noise Dean made seeming far louder than it should be, even in his own lungs. How could no one hear every speck of dirt crunch under his feet, every inhale and exhale he dared to softly breathe?

Trying to sneak by, to look inconspicuous and easily blend in, had somehow never been more difficult. Dean had managed far riskier feats of stealth than this with far more people watching, but this time felt different. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled, detecting the unwavering stares of eyes that did not exist. Every movement from his body was the wrong one to make, and every sound around him might as well have been an explosion.

Someone in the room laughed, and Dean could have sworn it was at him.

There was a whisper behind him, Dean’s name being uttered just loud enough for him to hear it. He whipped his head around again, stance less ready than last time.

Again, there was nothing there, but the hushed voice still echoed in Dean’s mind, the sound of his name bouncing around his skull.

He was only able to take a few more steps this time before it happened again, this time louder and in a taunting, sing-song tone. The hallway was still empty when Dean turned around, but he _knew_ something was there.

Something was following him.

Dean didn’t stop to think about why this was the case, why he hadn’t simply been apprehended again. His legs started moving instinctively, walking so noisily but so quickly away from whatever was clandestinely mocking him. The back of his neck felt like it was on fire, like something was breathing down it from an inch away without ever actually exhaling. His skin crawled and no amount of shuddering would rid Dean of the feeling, tiny pins and needles poking into his flesh.

It was getting harder to breathe now, and although he knew he was moving, the hallway in front of Dean seemed to stretch impossibly forwards forever. It was adding concrete and machines and stone and metal walls just to keep him from his goal.

Just to keep him closer to whatever was behind him.

Dean couldn’t feel his hands properly anymore, like they weren’t his. His brain felt detached from his body but present enough to feel every single unpleasant sensation that afflicted his body. Obviously, this made way for panic, which made every symptom even worse.

What the hell was happening to him?

He tripped. He tripped and it was so, so loud and Dean could feel his heart palpitating in his chest as he stumbled right in front of the slightly ajar door.

He had no air left. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think of a plan of action as the door impossibly swung open next to him.

But there was no one in the room.

Dean was gasping for air, drowning on land and in the middle of a ramshackle hallway. It was all a dream and it was all too painfully real at the same time and he physically could not bring himself to take another step.

Then he felt it.

Something behind him.

Its presence was unmistakable, an ink blot in Dean’s psyche that bled droplets of darkness everywhere it went. Nausea churned his stomach and he felt tears escape his eyes, though he was completely unable to stop them. Watching his own hands move was like watching someone else, disjointed and numb, but Dean was still disturbingly aware of how badly they were shaking.

His knees gave out from under him.

It was walking towards him, and Dean knew somewhere in the back of his head that he should have been more careful, that this was what the monster did to people. That he’d only ever been a rat in a maze, running around for its enjoyment.

There was no escape.

Dean felt a skeletal hand on his shoulder.

He couldn’t scream.


End file.
